


Turned On It's Head

by wingedwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Religious Themes & References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-20
Updated: 2010-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:59:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedwitch/pseuds/wingedwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a job can take an unexpected turn, even for an archangel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turned On It's Head

Perhaps he could have left them to their own. It was unlikely that another like his misguided sister would come for them, disobey as she had, nor were there any demons who would defy their own orders from their own leader. The destiny of the Winchesters was set, as it had always been. All of them, every single one, were playing their parts unto his father's will no matter what their intent, the beauty of which he sometimes felt only he could see. However, as he carefully lifted Mary from the floor and took her to the place she called home, he made a decision. He would stay to assure everything went smoothly from now until it was time for Sam to be conceived and he was forced to leave his vessel. John would go on living his life and Michael would watch over them from behind his eyes. It was the duty of the angels to keep order, to give that subtle nudge that would send this world to the end that had already been planned by its creator long ago. It was the reason obedience was valued above all else, and how he knew this was what he must do.

When Mary brought home a ceramic angel for Dean's nursery months later, it struck Michael in a strange way. Certainly the representation was very far removed from the reality of his kind, and he would concede to John's "cheesy" description. However, there was something about the way she looked as she gazed at the statue that tugged at him, her statement even more.

"Can't even put my finger on why I like it," she mused softly. "I just...like it."

From that point on, he watched her more carefully, with an added purpose. Even while Dean was still in the womb, he would hear her tell her child angels were watching over him. She didn't remember him, or anything that had transpired the night he'd taken her husband, but he was sure she knew her words were true. After the birth, Michael would often give John gentle nudges to be in the vicinity when Mary would put Dean down for the night to listen to her say those very words. There were times she would catch John standing in the doorway and smile, and he almost believed she was smiling at him. _Almost._

When Dean was almost two, they received an unexpected visitor. He came in the form of another Marine, one John welcomed with a smile and a handshake, but Michael, even from the back door of his vessel's mind, saw past that face to the one inside. When the two men stepped out to do a little catching up, the angel rose to the surface.

"What are you doing here?"

"Now, Mikey," the demon said as the eyes of his host flicked yellow, "is that any way to greet your family?"

"You have no business here."

"Au contraire, mon frère," he said, holding up a finger, "my favorite bit of business is _right_ here, and _you_ , what a surprise, are squatting in her hubby."

"That deal hasn't come due."

"No. No, it hasn't. That doesn't mean I don't drop by whenever I'm in town."

"Stay away from her."

His words were far sharper than they should have been, which afforded him a bit of openmouthed amusement from Azazel.

"Well isn't this an interesting turn of events. Michael, the _bestest_ little boy a daddy could ever have, sweet on the little missus." A lusty look slid across the Marine's features as the demon turned his head slightly to gaze toward the window of the house. "Not that I can blame you. Of her generation, she's my favorite." It went just as quickly, his attention turning back to the angel. "But, let's not forget what happened the last time."

Michael took a step forward, stance taunt and expression as cold and hard as stone. "You will leave this place and Mary Winchester until the appointed time." He paused as he took another step closer. "Or I will make sure you regret it."

Azazel just grinned as he took a casual step or two backward. "So long, Mikey. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." With a wink and a click of the tongue, he turned and walked away. Once he was gone, Michael did the same, weaving together a few memories for John to fill the gap he'd made before he faded back into the background.

John stood at the door of Dean's room that night, much like he did many nights, and as always, Michael watched with him as she said goodnight to her son. She stood and approached the doorway with that smile that tugged at both hearts, but it was the angel, not the man, that followed her back to the master bedroom. It was the angel, not the man, who stopped just inside the door and quietly watched her as she brushed her hair, the beginning of her nightly routine.

"Mary."

He watched as her hand paused, as if she knew it wasn't her husband who had spoken her name. It didn't surprise him. She had been raised a hunter, and even if she'd left that life behind, it was still a part of her. She turned to face him, her expression alone demanding what was going on.

He carefully lifted his hands, palms facing her. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I promise."

"Who _are_ you?"

"My name is Michael. I'm an angel. I've been here with you for quite some time, watching over your family, just as you've been telling your son."

He expected her to argue, to doubt the truth he spoke. Instead, her face softened and she stared back at him in awe.

For a long while, they just looked at each other. She was the one who finally broke the silence, however softly.

"Why me? Why are you here?"

"You are a very special woman," he said as he began to close the gap between them. "You have an important purpose to fulfill." He stopped in front of her, tilting his head as he took a moment to study her. "Unfortunately...I'm afraid I can't be the angel to see you there."

He watched as the realization spread across her features.

"You're leaving."

"Don't worry. There will be another."

"But why?"

He didn't answer her question, just raised his hands to her face before slowly threaded his fingers through her hair.

"Goodbye, Mary."

Michael leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He felt her gently take hold of him as he did so, causing him to hold his lips there far longer than he'd intended. When he could no longer justify it to himself, he pulled away, catching her and cradling her in his arms as she went limp. He put the sleeping woman to bed, scrubbing away the memory of himself with another gentle brush of his hand―the perfect excuse for one last touch before he left the Winchesters for the place he called home.

The Garden seemed so empty, though he knew it wasn't. His brothers were around and about, his family, but not the family he wanted. Not the family he longed for now.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but you seem a little troubled."

Michael was quiet and still, turning the past couple of years on Earth over and over in his mind. "I wish our father were here, Joshua. I could use his guidance."

"I know it's not the same, and I may not have much to offer, but I'm willing to listen if you need it." He paused, waiting for an answer, but was treated with more silence. "You don't need to be strong for me, you know. I won't look at you any differently."

The archangel finally looked at his brother, not knowing quite what to say, but willing to try. "I became... _attached_ to her. I don't understand it."

"It's easier than you think it would be, when you get that close."

"It's never happened to me before," Michael replied a little too quickly.

"You feel guilty."

"Should I, Joshua? Was I wrong to feel for her?"

There was a thoughtful pause before he answered. "Only our father can give you the true answer. But in my experience, obedience has little to do with what you feel."

Michael turned his gaze to it's original point of origin. In The Garden, one saw what they wanted, even the angels. What he saw before him was the bedroom of a child, soft waves of blond falling over a mother's shoulders as her lips formed the words of her favorite Beatles song. There was no sound to the image, but he could still hear every word.

"I hope you're right, brother."


End file.
